


Over the Mountains of the Moon

by MysteriousNomdePlume



Category: Night at the Museum (Movies)
Genre: Ahk was stuck in a box for 54 years what do you expect, Ahkmenrah Gets A Hug, Ahkmenrah Needs a Hug, Ahkmenrah Whump, Ahkmenrah being too dark, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Panic, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-23 09:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30053352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysteriousNomdePlume/pseuds/MysteriousNomdePlume
Summary: When the sun set, demented, wretched screams and banging were heard pouring from the coffin, and Cecil knew he made the right choice about the mummy.His duties as the night guard had always been to keep things out, but now it seemed his aim was to keep something in.And Cecil J. Fredericks wasverygood at his job.
Relationships: Ahkmenrah & Larry Daley, Jedediah/Octavius (Night at the Museum), Theodore Roosevelt/Sacajawea (Night at the Museum)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 20





	1. Khet - The Body

The staff at Cambridge maintained the mummy was cursed.

No matter how many times they secured the pins holding the coffin shut, they always found them on the floor the next morning, as if the pharaoh’s skeletal fingers had reached through the gap and pushed them out.

And things moved around in the department, at night. Most of the time, it was small things, ones most people could convince themselves were just a trick of the mind, like the textbook the linguist swore she left facing up one night found face down the next morning.

But the morning janitor would claim until the day he died, that once, before sunrise, he had seen a handsome young man yawn, lay in the coffin, and pull the lid overtop, as if tucking himself into bed. By the time he got up the nerve to open the coffin and look in, the sun was already high enough to shine upon the pharaoh’s golden tablet, and he found nothing but the mummy. With shaking hands, the janitor replaced the pins in the lid and went about his work. 

He told the Egyptologists of this when they arrived, who told him to come to work sober next time, and not to touch the artifacts. Still, not even the most skeptical among them could deny that the janitor’s testimony had added to their general uneasiness regarding Pharaoh Ahkmenrah.

When the Museum of Natural History in New York expressed interest in acquiring Pharaoh Ahkmenrah and his tablet for their permanent collection, the Egyptologists agreed with little fuss. They had possessed the mummy for fourteen years, after all, and gained from it all knowledge that contemporary science would allow. It was no great loss to share Pharaoh Ahkmenrah with the world.

They did, however, think it only fair to discreetly pass along the information regarding the strange happenings to the staff of the mummy’s new home.

Cecil Fredericks received the message. And, being a superstitious man, he ensured that the pins were fastened that first night, and he laid a heavy slab of stone across the top of the golden coffin.

When the sun set, demented, wretched screams and banging were heard pouring from the coffin, and Cecil knew he made the right choice about the mummy. 

His duties as the night guard had always been to keep things out, but now it seemed his aim was to keep something in.

And Cecil J. Fredericks was _very_ good at his job.


	2. Ib - The Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He never learned._
> 
> _Why did Ahkmenrah never learn that he’d be locked up until the end of time, and this was just the beginning?_

Ahkmenrah awoke one night to find he was being moved. 

Through the gap in his coffin, there came muffled English phrases, and he had the sense of being carried.

He knew the Cambridge Egyptologists planned to send him somewhere else, and it seemed the move was finally happening. He had seen their notes regarding his transfer to the American Museum of Natural History in a city called “New York.” When he referred to an atlas for the location of this place and found that it was far across the ocean, he felt the beginnings of excitement.

Ahkmenrah had been at Cambridge long enough by far. He had explored every nook and cranny of the place. And after he learned to speak the language and read it using the many Egyptian dictionaries the department possessed, he read all the books he could find, on all manner of subjects -- dabbling in languages, science, history, and literature.

He had also had his fill of scaring the students who wandered about outside at night.

But now, _a new place_ \-- and what a place New York seemed to be! One of the university’s books said it possessed the world’s tallest structure -- the Empire State Building -- almost three times the height of the Great Pyramid. Another called New York “the city that never sleeps,” bustling with activity all day and night -- perfect for a nocturnal being such as he.

When Ahkmenrah felt his coffin being set down (likely being loaded onto a ship), he propped the lid of his coffin open slightly with a small piece of wood he kept with him for that purpose. He pulled fresh air into his lungs and relaxed. Soon enough, he felt his consciousness dripping away with the light of the morning.

Ahkmenrah smiled and closed his coffin. When he awoke again, he would be in New York City.

~

It was dark and stiflingly warm inside the metal coffin, as usual. Ahkmenrah had no desire to linger inside, especially not when there was a new kingdom to explore just outside.

He put his hands against the lid and --

The lid did not move.

He frowned and pushed again. 

Still nothing.

It always, _always_ moved -- just enough for him to slip his hand through the gap and push out the pins that held the coffin closed.

A wisp of panic rose in his chest, but he willed his breaths to remain even.

Footsteps sounded outside the coffin. “Hello?” said Ahkmenrah. He knew his voice would be audible, even through the lid. There was a pause, a hesitation, but then the steps continued. “Hello!?” he said, more loudly this time, but the footsteps grew fainter until he could no longer hear them.

Ahkmenrah’s attention was drawn back to his own body, and the heat of his breath against the lid, the dampness of his palms. He pushed on the lid again, and his hands slipped on the hot metal surrounding him.

“Hello? Can someone please… can someone please let me out?” He hated the way his voice shook as he spoke.

No, no, not _this_. Please, he couldn’t even stretch his arms.

“Please, let me out! Let me out!”

His voice was loud in his own ears, and his sweat-soaked back stuck to the bottom of the coffin. Ahkmenrah recognized vaguely that he was hyperventilating now. He’d read that word in a medical textbook once.

“Please! There’s not enough air!”

He leaned up and slammed the full force of his body into the lid, and… it moved. It jiggled, only slightly. 

Encouraged by the success, he tried several times more, but succeeded in little more than giving himself a blinding headache. This strategy would not work; he needed someone from the outside to free him.

His eyes stung, and the cloth on his chest and neck seemed to be strangling him. “Let me out, let me out! I’ll do whatever you want.” Why was this happening to him?

Ahkmenrah couldn’t stop himself from screaming and pounding at the lid of the coffin, though he was aware of the action’s futility. His mind rebelled at stillness and silence. 

Eventually, his words changed from English, to Egyptian, then to something incomprehensible. Why did no one come for him? By the gods, what had he done that Anubis would leave him on earth, in this place, rather than taking him to the land of his ancestors?

In his frustration, Ahkmenrah hit his head on the coffin until he felt the world around him grow silent and empty, and he knew no more.

~

_When Ahkmenrah first pushed open his coffin in his tomb so many years ago, it was dark, save for the light emanating from his tablet._

_“Hello, my pharaoh,” came a little voice._

_Ahkmenrah stood and approached the corner where the sound had come from. There was a shabti -- a small, blue-glazed figure placed in his tomb to assist him in the labors of the afterlife._

_“Shabti, how is this possible?” he asked._

_“Your tablet restores your life as long as the moon shines upon the earth. It makes you whole, and animates me to aid you.” it answered._

_“To what end?”_

_“That you and your family may spend eternity together.”_

_“In that case, where are they?”_

_“They are resting elsewhere.”_

_Ahkmenrah stared. That couldn’t be true. Anubis would come for him and would find his heart pure, then he would be with his ancestors in paradise. He would just have to wait._

_When the food ran out, and the air grew thick with his own breath, he could hardly bear it -- the dark, solitary imprisonment in his tomb was too much to ask of him._

_One evening, the air in his mouth felt thick as mud, and Ahkmenrah could no longer rally the energy to stand._

_“Shabti,” he gasped._

_“Yes, my pharaoh?”_

_“Bring... me the... tablet,” said Ahkmenrah, between several breaths. He could feel his consciousness fading already. This needed to be done quickly._

_The shabti obeyed, and Ahkmenrah held the tablet with much effort in his shaking hands. There had to be a way to stop this._

_He turned the center tile, breaking the harmony of the spell, and he felt his awareness leaving him. He smiled._

_Finally._

_“Shabti,” he said again, holding the tablet in his arms. “Wrap my body… and close my sarcophagus.”_

_He would awake to better times. Of this he was sure._

~

His next night at the New York Museum, Ahkmenrah begged the shabti to stop the tablet for him. 

_Please, the oblivion of day is sweet and empty and I am nothing then, and nothingness cannot be trapped._

No one answered, and he broke his wrist banging on his coffin.

~

Anyone who looked at the inside of the lid of Ahkmenrah’s coffin would quickly notice scratch marks above the chest of the mummy, obscuring the spells carved into the gold.

Historians lamented the damage, but ultimately put it down to improper handling of the artifact

~

There were voices outside the coffin. Right outside.

“Mr. Fredericks, is it really necessary to keep it in there, do you think? It raises such an awful fuss every night.”

“Very necessary. And for the last time, call me Cecil, Mr. Roosevelt.” There was a tap on the lid of the coffin. “The first night it came here, the mummy attacked me, see?”

There was a pause. “I say, that is quite a scar, Mr.… Cecil."

_I DIDN’T ATTACK ANYONE!_

“See, there it goes again with the screaming,” said Mr. Fredericks.

Was he screaming? Sometimes, Ahkemenrah couldn’t tell whether his thoughts were just thoughts, or if he had spoken them.

He never attacked anyone. Did he attack someone? No, he had been in this coffin the whole time, since he left Cambridge. That was a fact. But then, each night flowed into the others, and long swaths of time morphed until he forgot the individual moments. Had he done something bad and forgotten it? Is that why he was here?

“Well, I must be off,” said Mr. Roosevelt. “Keep your eyes on the stars and your feet on the ground, dear fellow.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. And I should get going, too. I need to round up a couple of the miniatures that managed to escape their exhibits.”

No, no. The footsteps were fading away.

_Please I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, I’ll never do it again!_

~

Perhaps the gods were dead, and that was why they left him here.

~

_Ahkmenrah’s hands were around the neck of Cecil Fredericks. Everything around him was blurred and indistinct, but that didn’t matter. He grinned as he choked the man, who gasped and flailed as Ahkmenrah himself had done so many times inside the coffin._

_When the man’s struggling lessened, Ahkmenrah dropped him inside the golden coffin and fastened the locks and wrapped a great ball and chain around it. Then he threw it into the Red Sea, watching it sink as it glittered like a huge fish in the clear, deep water. It was very deep now, but to his delight, Cecil Frederick’s screams were as audible as if the man had been standing next to him._

A muffled clatter came from somewhere outside the coffin. Outside? But that meant he was inside -- inside the coffin. Ahkmenrah clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling the heat of his hands as his senses returned to him.

The vision was broken, but the screaming continued.

It was hours before Ahkmenrah realized the voice was his own.

~

Ahkmenrah was an evil man. That was why this was happening to him.

His heart was _heavy, heavy, heavy_ like all the stones in the pyramids, and when the gods weighed it against the feather of Maat, it had surely broken the scales, and for that, the gods had locked him up and tossed him away with an eternity to lose his mind.

This torment was the will of the gods. There could be no mortal suffering such as this.

~

_The pins fell from his coffin with a great clatter, like the sound of an armored man falling to the ground, dead. The lid was pulled away, and the bright lights and colors above dazzled Ahkmenrah’s eyes._

_A man stood over him. “Hello, your majesty” the man said with the voice of Cecil Fredericks._

_“Why did you leave me here?” asked Ahkmenrah._

_“I’m sorry, pharaoh. You only just arrived a few hours ago from Cambridge. I came as quickly as I could to release you.”_

_“It’s only… it’s only been a few hours?”_

_“Yes -- four to be exact -- though, I’m sure it felt like longer in the dark in there. Why don’t you come out and I’ll take you around the museum. Maybe sometime soon we can even go outside and I can show you the sights -- I’m sure you’ll be impressed by the Empire State Building. It’s three times taller than the tallest pyramid!”_

When Ahkmenrah sat up, his head thudded against the lid of his coffin.

~

There is a threshold of pain at which one’s body simply shuts down, to spare the victim the pointless suffering.

What then, of the mind? It was surely the same -- stopping the pain to save some poor wretch -- Ahkmenrah had seen it. A woman’s tears for her dead babe turning into mad laughter, or a man simply blinking after waking up to the sight of his legs that had been mangled under a heavy stone.

But then, his situation had none of the abruptness of a wound -- like being stabbed by his brother so long ago -- nor the sickening ache of his parents death.

This torment was drawn out to ruin him, the way one prolongs a kiss to make a lover tremble. Exquisite torture.

That’s what this surely was -- torture. Ahkmenrah had probably done something to deserve it, but couldn’t remember what.

~

_His mother was singing to him._

_“I love a girl, but she lives over there,  
On the far side of the river,  
A whole Nile in flood rages between,  
With a crocodile hunched on the sand.”_

“That’s strange, the mummy’s never sung before,” came a voice from somewhere far away. It didn’t matter -- not when his his beautiful mother was with him, and she was holding him and singing an old song.

_“Whenever I leave you, I go out of breath,  
(Death must be lonely like I am);  
I dream lying dreams of your love lost,  
And my heart stands still inside me.”_

~

Ahkmenrah’s heart was the problem. That was the issue the whole time.

The organ held his memory and emotion. It was the seat of the soul, and that was the reason the embalmers had left it in his chest and protected it with a precious scarab amulet rather than placing it in canopic jars with the rest.

It needed to go. Without emotion, he couldn’t suffer! Yes, the heart needed to go.

__

_Ahkmenrah brought his hand to his chest and tore at his skin with his nails. It was slow, agonizing work, but not difficult. Flesh was soft._

_There it was -- his heart, beating in the empty cavity of his chest. He placed his fingers on it and felt it swell and beat beneath them. But try as he might, he could not draw it out. He was weak from the blood that had already left him, and Ahkmenrah did not have the strength to break his ribs._

_He tried to pull his heart out piece by piece, but soon after he started, he lost consciousness. His half-ruined heart could no longer keep him awake, it seemed._

When he woke again, his chest was smooth except for the scars of his mortal life, and his heart beat steadily under his palm.

The tablet always healed him and kept him safe, like a man who cages a bird to keep it from breaking a wing.

~

_Please stop this. Please, please, please, please._

~

There were voices. Mr. Roosevelt, and also someone new.

Ahkmenrah allowed a glimmer of hope to nestle in his heart.

“Here we are, Lawrence. Ever since Ahkmenrah’s mummy was brought here in 1952, everything in this museum has come to life at night. It’s because of the tablet that came with it.”

_Lawrence, please, please LET ME OUT, I beg you! I’ll do whatever you wish for as long as I live! JUST LET ME OUT!_

“Yell all you want, pharaoh. You’ve been in there fifty-four years. You’re not getting out tonight!” said Mr. Roosevelt.

Something clattered outside. “Does he always... scream like that?” asked Lawrence.

“Every night. Now, come, and I’ll show you the tablet, the source of all this.”

Soon enough, Ahkmenrah could no longer hear the pair, and it felt like his heart was being ripped out again.

He never learned. 

Why did Ahkmenrah never learn that he’d be locked up until the end of time, and this was just the beginning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, your heaping plate of angst as promised.
> 
> This is probably the darkest thing I've ever written, so I'd love to hear your thoughts on it.
> 
> And don't worry, things will get better for poor Ahk in chapter 3. He'll get the love he deserves :'(
> 
> If you're curious, the song Ahkmenrah's mother sings are two ancient Egyptian poems, the first from Cairo Ostracon 25218, and the second from Papyrus Harris 500. (I did way more research into ancient Egypt than was necessary for this fic.)
> 
> Hope you're all doing well. Thanks for reading!


	3. Ren - The Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Sorry, could you say that one more --”_
> 
> _“ARE YOU GOING TO LOCK ME UP AGAIN?” Ahkmenrah said again, much louder than he intended. His arms were wrapped around his body defensively, and he suddenly felt his body trembling. He must have looked pathetic, because Larry approached him slowly, like a frightened animal._
> 
> _“I would never do that.” He put a hand on Ahkmenrah’s shoulder, and the kindness in the touch nearly made him sob._
> 
> _“But what if you do?”_  
> 

There were several sets of footsteps outside the coffin, and soft, but frantic voices spoke.

 _A chance_ , thought Ahkmenrah.

_Let me out! Please, open the coffin!_

He tried to level his voice and sound less, well, insane, but he wasn’t sure he managed it. He pushed and pushed at the top of the coffin, willing it to finally move and release him.

Outside, there was a great slam as something solid and heavy was pushed to the floor. Next, barely audible, there sounded two soft whistles of metal against metal, and then --

And then -- Ahkmenrah’s arms moved. The lid went flying, and distantly, there was a clang as it fell to the ground.

_Please, please don’t let this be my imagination._

Ahkmenrah, very slowly, sat up. His head did not hit the lid of his coffin as he rose.

“Hey, hi, how ya doin’?” came a voice, quick and frantic. It was Lawrence! The man had come for him! May the gods grant him all the blessings of the pharaohs!

Ahkmenrah turned his head to Lawrence as the man continued speaking. Admittedly, most of the frenetic monologue went over his head, but he got the message. “Stand down!” he said in Egyptain. A clang emanated from the jackals as they obeyed.

He turned to Lawrence, and the dim light of the room dazzled his eyes through his wrappings. 

_The wrappings_ \-- he could take them off! 

Ahkmenrah grinned and laughed as he reached his hands to his face to pull the cloth away. His laughter must have sounded horrendous, after going so long unused, but it poured out of him like light from a torch. 

After a moment’s struggle, the wrappings fell from his face to the floor.

Ahkmenrah stopped laughing. He blinked at the sights around him. He had forgotten how thrillingly colorful the world was! And in front of him was a man, the first he had seen in more than half a century, and a boy holding onto his side. The curves of their faces welcomed him with their familiarity. 

People! Oh, how Ahkmenrah loved people!

Ahkmenrah opened his mouth to take a breath of sweet, clean, open air.

Then he coughed, a plume of old dust leaving his mouth.

Lawrence’s face was contorted with bafflement, and the boy’s held apprehension, and they were both still looking at him.

All Ahkmenrah could think to say was, “You would not _believe_ how _stuffy_ it is in there.”

~

That night was the most exhilarating he had ever experienced.

After Ahkmenrah was freed and replaced his wrappings with real clothes, he found himself caught in a whirling sandstorm of adventure. There had been a thrilling chase on the back of a skeletal tyrannosaurus rex with Larry’s son, Nick, and it was like something from an old story of gods going to war. 

Then justice was served. They caught Cecil Fredericks and regained the tablet.

Ahkmenrah felt nothing as the huns took him away. This was unexpected; the man having been the sole bearer of his wrath, and his sole hope of freedom for so long. But indifference was surprisingly pleasant, after what Ahkmenrah felt for those fifty-four years.

And then there was the cold. By now, it had numbed his feet and the tips of his fingers, and he was shivering. But still, it felt so lovely -- bright and clean -- making the air crisp and fresh like cool water.

Snow was falling softly upon them, too. 

Ahkmenrah had never seen snow before Cambridge, but it immediately became his favorite kind of weather. Whenever he awoke to find it falling outside the window, he would grin, and rush to borrow whatever clothing he could abscond with, and spend the whole night outside. The best was when the wind was still. Those nights, he would just sit and watch the snowflakes fall and blot out the color layer by layer, delicately lacing every brick and blade of grass, the way one dresses sons and daughters for their weddings.

Around Ahkmenrah, the snow enchanted everything, gilding the ground and trees, the backs of horses, the huns’ pointed caps. He watched as thick, white flakes settled onto Larry’s black hair, his eyelashes, the dark shoulders of his coat, his --

“Uh, Ahk?” said Larry.

Ahkmenrah blinked and came back to himself. “Yes?”

The man looked oddly at him and fiddled with his tie. “Well,” he said. “I guess it’s time to do that bestowing.” Ahkmenrah was suddenly aware Larry was holding the tablet out to him.

“Thank you.” When Ahkmenrah took it, a golden light shone between the tiles and through the engraved hieroglyphs. The metal was warm and heavy in his hands, like a living thing. “Guardian of Brooklyn, I can lead everyone back to the museum.”

“Really? With the tablet?” Larry said eagerly.

“Yes, like the song of a siren, calling sailors to the grave.” Ahkmenrah looked at Larry, who was wearing an expression he could not quite interpret after so long without human interaction, but he could guess what it meant. “Too dark?” Ahkmenrah added.

“Um, just a bit,” Larry said. “But yeah, go ahead. I have no idea how we’d get them all back otherwise.”

Ahkmenrah frowned and looked down at the tablet. 

The gold glowed brightly as the magic pulled irresistibly at the inhabitants of the museum.

~

Ahkmenrah and Larry stood at the entrance of the museum, watching as all manner of people and creatures paraded into the museum. “Innuit, one terracotta soldier, vikings, alpaca…,” he listed. It reminded Ahkmerah of that story of all the world’s animals entering a massive boat to escape a divine flood.

Mr. Roosevelt returned with Sacagawea, and Larry went to greet them, ecstatic that the man was now in one piece. Ahkmenrah watched them as they smiled at one another, wishing he could join them, but now that they had achieved their goal, he didn’t know how he was supposed to act. 

Ahkmenrah had been good at small talk, once. 

Nick stood next to him, watching Ahkmenrah, but saying nothing. He was content to stand and absorb all the new sights and sounds that were presented to him, in the way children often were. Ahkmenrah decided he liked the boy.

Larry returned after a few moments and ruffled Nick’s hair. Ahkmenrah wished he had someone to touch him so fondly. “Well,” said Larry, “I guess Nick and I need to start cleaning up the mess. Sunrise is soon, so you should be getting back to your exhibit, Ahk.”

Ahkmenrah blinked at him. “Oh… yes.” He tried to swallow down the horror at the thought of ever returning to that coffin, but by the way his two companions looked at him, he didn't quite manage to keep a straight face. He cleared his throat. “Yes… well, I should better get going, in that case.” 

Ahkmenrah walked stiffly through the chaos, feeling outside of himself. His feet were taking him back to his exhibit of their own accord, and it seemed as if his mind was floating somewhere behind. 

A moment later, he found himself upstairs, standing in front of his coffin. He felt his hands moving on their own, opening it. He watched them move, bones and tendons flexing and turning under the skin, and they felt jarringly unfamiliar to him.

In English, there was an expression about knowing something like the back of one’s hand. It was no surprise, Ahkmenrah thought, that he found it hard to recognize his own. He hadn’t seen them -- or anything else -- in fifty-four years. He was sincerely unsure whether he would even recognize his face if confronted with his reflection, though this didn’t bother him at the moment.

The coffin in front of him was solid gold, the outside arrayed with gemstones and the inside with hieroglyphic spells designed to protect him. Many of the words, however, had been buffed out, made illegible by years of his thrashing and scratching within. It was unexpectedly clean, for all the blood and sweat that had poured from him while inside.

Ahkmenrah stood beside it, looking in. He knew he was supposed to lay down there.

But he could not bring himself to do it.

Larry wanted to lock him up again, didn’t he? The man had not said otherwise.

After all, Larry had only freed Ahkmenrah because he was useful, and now that the tablet was returned and the museum once again filled with its inhabitants, had he not outlived his usefulness?

Why would anyone want to deal with Ahkmenrah, now? 

The world seem to shrink, until it was only him and the coffin, alone in the darkness, and it was hot and damp and he couldn’t breathe and --

There was a hand on his shoulder, and suddenly Larry was beside him.

“You ok there, Ahk? You kinda seemed like you were spacing out --”

“Please, don’t make me get in there.” 

Ahkmenrah was begging. He would have been ashamed of that, once.

Larry's face morphed in sympathy as he spoke. “Sorry, bud, but you need to. It’s the safest place for your mummy. We can’t just leave that out during the day.”

Ahkmenrah looked down at his sandals, which still glistened with drops of melted snow. “Are you going to lock me up again?” he whispered.

“Sorry, could you say that one more --”

“ARE YOU GOING TO LOCK ME UP AGAIN?” he said again, much louder than he intended. His arms were wrapped around his body defensively, and he suddenly felt his body trembling. He must have looked pathetic, because Larry approached him slowly, like a frightened animal.

“I would never do that.” He put a hand on Ahkmenrah’s shoulder, and the kindness in the touch nearly made him sob.

“But what if you do?”

Larry paused for a second, then began to walk away and said, “I’ll be right back.”

A moment later, he returned with a large knife, perhaps borrowed from one of the Huns. Did he intend to threaten Ahkmenrah into submission? It was a stupid idea; he had already been stabbed to death. Once more would be no problem.

But the man went to the coffin instead. He removed the pins, then placed the knife under one of the leather straps and sawed at it until it fell away, before doing so with the other. Then, he grabbed the stone slab that had pressed the coffin lid shut and dragged it to the hall.

“Rexy!” he hollered. Soon enough, the dinosaur had bounded up to him from downstairs. “Pick this up and follow me.” Rexy picked it up and wagged his tail, ready for a game.

Larry gestured for Ahkmenrah to follow, then led them all outside through the loading dock.

“All right. Now, drop it, Rexy!” Rexy did, and the stone fell to the ground, shattering into dozens of pieces.

Ahkmenrah could only blink and look dazedly at the rubble. 

He felt Larry’s warm, rough hand in his, and then he was being pulled back inside. 

Suddenly, they were back in front of the coffin.

“Now, nobody could lock you up, even if they wanted to,” Larry said, smiling at him. “Will you get in for me?”

Ahkmenrah paused, then nodded. He put away his crown and sandals, then hesitantly lay down.

Larry patted Ahkmenrah’s cheek softly once he was settled in. Ahkmenrah wondered if he did that when he put his son to bed.

“I won’t put the lid on until after sunrise,” said Larry. “I’ll see you tonight, all right?”

“All right,” Ahkmenrah echoed.

Larry nodded and walked off, his footsteps so much clearer, now that the lid was off.

Part of Ahkmenrah thought Larry was tricking him, or this whole night was just his imagination.

_No, that’s not true. This is real._

Ahkmenrah’s eyes were darkening, pieces of the room gently falling away as the sun rose.

_Please, I don’t want this to end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting slightly better for our hero.  
> But worry not; more angst is to come.
> 
> I just want to say thanks to those of you who have commented.  
> Feedback is like hard drugs.
> 
> Hope you're all well! Thanks for reading!


	4. Shut - The Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“...are you saying you’re going to arrest me?”_
> 
> _“Yes, that’s what we’re going to do. If you cooperate, you’ll be out on bail by morning.” The officer approached him and continued, “Just put your hands behind your back. If you make this easy for us, we’ll make this easy for you.”_
> 
> _“Morning,” said Ahkmenrah quietly. “No, morning is too late! I need to be home by dawn!” Ahkmenrah backed away a few steps._
> 
> _“Easy, buddy. Home will still be there in the morning.”_
> 
> _This was true; the museum would be._
> 
> _But Ahkmenrah would not._

Ahkmenrah was inside the coffin again, and his back was hot against the metal beneath him. It was dark.

He remembered Larry coaxing him inside last night with the promise that he would not be locked in when he awoke. 

But, had that been real?

The vividness and intensity were greater than any of Ahkmenrah’s previous fantasies. Still, as he put his hands to the lid of the coffin, he found himself reluctant to push it open and test the veracity of his experience.

As long as Ahkmenrah did not open the lid, he would not know if he was still locked inside, or if he was free. Like Schrodinger’s cat, he could exist in both states at once, with no chance of settling on the undesirable one until he checked

He wanted to push the lid up and stand and breathe fresh air, but even more than that, he did not want to feel the locks and the weight of the stone holding him inside. He could not bring himself to risk that disappointment

So, Ahkmenrah lay there, frozen, hands against the lid.

~

There was a knock on his coffin. “Hey, Ahk. You all right?” asked Larry.

Ahkmenrah swallowed, then said, “Yes.”

“I’m going to lift the lid up now,” he said. The lid moved away and Ahkmenrah blinked against the sudden light. A slight breeze from the movement cooled the beads of sweat that had formed on his face, and some of the tenseness left his body.

“What’s up, Ahk? The sun’s been down for a couple hours now. We were wondering where you were.”

“Just… resting.”

“Doesn’t seem like a very comfortable spot.” Larry frowned.

“...it’s not.”

Larry put a hand out to him. “In that case, why don’t you come down to the atrium? We’re all having a bit of a party to celebrate... well, not being dead. We have music and food, and I think Columbus started a soccer game.”

~

Ahkmenrah spent much of his time dancing with the Huns. They understood English perfectly well, but found it unpleasant and cumbersome to speak, so they preferred their own language. Most of their fondness for him surely lay in the fact that he could understand them.

He found Mr. Roosevelt looking at him oddly a couple times, but he did not want to analyze what it could mean. 

Ahkmenrah stopped dancing as the song ended, and took a moment to look around the room. Everyone looked happy -- happy that the threat was gone, happy to no longer be fighting. It pleased him to see.

Then his eyes landed on an unhappy man at the very edge of the room, and he froze. 

The man was leaning forward to mop something off the floor, but his white hair was starkly visible, even from here. The man seemed to sense Ahkmenrah’s gaze, and he looked up, face filling with distaste.

“Cecil Fredericks,” Ahkmenrah whispered, suddenly feeling ill.

Attila, who was next to him, responded, “Ah, yes. The scoundrels who absconded with your tablet were sentenced to clean the facilities for a year as punishment rather than imprisonment, due to their age -- too light a sentence, by far. Old age means nothing if it does not bring honor. If I were their judge, they would be sentenced to painful deaths, and their bodies hung outside the museum as a reminder to all who enter our home.”

Ahkmenrah stared as Cecil Fredericks looked away and went back to his work. His thoughts were spiraling in his mind, too quickly for him to grab onto any of them to voice.

“Pharaoh, are you well?” said Atilla.

“Yes, thank you,” he responded after a moment. “I think I shall retire for the night.”

“I see, your strange dancing has tired you.”

The gentle barb made Ahkmenrah smile slightly. “Something like that.”

~

Ahkmenrah did not return to his exhibit, instead choosing to explore the museum. He eventually found himself in the hall of meteorites, one of the only places in the museum unaffected by the magic of the tablet. 

He spent the rest of the night reading the placards and observing the meteorites, examining the bizarre chasms and ravines that had formed in their surfaces.

During his time in Egypt, Ahkmenrah had a dagger forged from a meteorite. One of the priests had presented it to him upon his coronation, saying it was a gift from the gods.

But Ahkmenrah knew it was just a rock. If it were from the gods, surely his brother would not have been able to kill him with it.

~

The next night when he awoke, Ahkmenrah only waited a few minutes before opening his coffin. 

For first time in a long while, he found that his mind was not smothered by a miasma of unease. The feeling was like waking from a fever to find oneself pleasantly cool and full of energy. 

Ahkmenrah thought as he got dressed. For the past two nights, he could only consider the present. But now, it seemed he had a future as well -- a fairly pleasant one, even. He was free to move about, and he had at least a few friends now -- Larry, Nick, and the Huns. 

And he had time to make others like him, too. He could convince them that he wasn’t the same man he was when he attacked Cecil Fredericks. Ahkmenrah was unsure whether Mr. Fredericks was lying about that or not. But either way, that was the story he had used to convince the other exhibits to keep him trapped, so Ahkmenrah had to unconvince them.

Ahkmenrah frowned as he stood at the entrance of his exhibit, looking at the coffin at the end of the hall. 

_But I have time now_ , he thought as he walked out. _I’ll convince them_.

~

When Ahkmenrah got to the bottom of the stairs, there several exhibits were in the atrium speaking to each other, lounging about, or working on some task. He spotted Mr. Roosevelt talking to Sacagawea by the front desk.

The others seemed to regard them highly; if Ahkmenrah could demonstrate that the couple did not distrust him, the rest would surely follow. 

But as Ahkmenrah headed towards them, Mr. Roosevelt looked up at him. A strange expression (of fear? shame? -- no, surely not the second) crossed his face. He turned to Sacagawea, seemingly to make some excuse, then kissed her cheek before walking off. Ahkmenrah’s heart sunk, but he continued.

“Hello, Ahkmenrah.” Sacagawea smiled when he reached her. “Are you well?”

“I am, thank you.” He smiled back. People trust you more when you smile. “I wished to see how everyone was faring after the recent events.”

“Oh yes, we are well, too.” There was a pause after that, perhaps too long. “Is that all you wanted? You look as if you wish to say something else.”

“Did you know the Empire State Building is the tallest structure in the world? It’s only a few blocks from here.” 

_Why did I say that?_

“...I had no idea, but that is fascinating,” Sacagawea said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, certainly,” he said, a bit too quickly. “Until later, Sacagawea. Goodbye.”

Ahkmenrah turned to leave, hearing a faint “goodbye” behind him.

_That interaction was a complete failure._

His face was hot with embarasment as he walked away. 

~

Ahkmenrah had no destination in mind, but he eventually found himself by the planetarium. The whole wing was made of glass, and he walked outside onto a small terrace. The snow outside had not melted, and the moon was full and bright. It was a bitterly cold night, and the tips of his ears were already starting to go numb, but the light of the moon filled him like a beautiful song, putting the discomfort from his mind. The whole scene reminded him of a line from a poem he had once read.

_“The moon on the breast of the fresh-fallen snow gave the luster of midday to objects below.”_

That poem was about Christmas. Ahkmenrah wondered if holiday had already happened this winter, or if it was still to come. He hoped for the former, having always wished to participate in the celebrations he saw during his time at Cambridge.

Ahkmenrah had a thought. His conversation with Sacagawea had failed because he had no real goal, but perhaps next time he tried to speak with someone, he would ask about Christmas -- when it was, what the typical festivities were.

In his peripheral vision, Ahkmenrah caught a glimpse of a silhouette facing him behind the glass, but it vanished when he looked in its direction.

Perhaps it was his imagination. 

~

By the time Ahkmenrah reentered the museum, the sun was already throwing a sapphire glow into the sky from below the horizon.

~

The next night, Ahkmenrah walked into the hall of miniatures, thinking perhaps to make his inquiries to the residents of the Wild West, when someone else came down the hall.

“Mr. Roosevelt,” said Ahkmenrah. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

The man looked suddenly nervous. “Well,” he said after a moment, smiling hesitantly. “Ask away, pharaoh.”

“I was wondering about Christmas -- specifically if it has happened this winter yet or not, and what kinds of traditions there are. I know you celebrated it in your culture.”

Strangely, this seemed to relieve Mr. Roosevelt. “Ah, I can certainly tell you about that,” he began. “To answer your first question: no, Christmas is still a few weeks away. Common traditions include gift-giving, feasting, singing, and decorations -- commonly with pine branches and lights.”

Ahkmenrah nodded. “Thank you.”

“Why the sudden interest, may I ask?”

“I thought, perhaps we could celebrate the holiday here at the museum -- something like the other night.”

“That certainly is an idea! You’ll have to take it up with Larry to see if it can be arranged.” Then Mr. Roosevelt suddenly glanced to the side and said, “Oh! We never locked Mayan exhibit!”

_Locked?_

Ahkmenrah looked to the place the man rushed to, where the Mayans were pouring out of their land, bearing spears, bows and arrows, and other weapons. Mr. Roosevelt swept them back toward their exhibit with an arm, then picked up handfuls of miniatures, quickly scooping them back to their pyramid, wincing as they poked their weapons into his hands. Finally, he sighed in relief as he pulled the sliding doors closed around them.

Mr. Roosevelt looked at Ahkmenrah again, saying, “Thank heavens we were here! They try to wage war on the Romans every time they get out.”

But Ahkmenrah did not respond. All he could hear was the voice that had said, _“Yell all you want, pharaoh. You’ve been in there fifty-four years. You’re not getting out tonight!”_

Suddenly his crown was too warm -- the hot metal surrounding him. He ripped it from his head and looked at it. But no, it was only a crown, not a coffin. 

Ahkmenrah began to walk away, and as he went, he thought he heard a call of “Pharaoh, are you all right?” but the words slipped through his thoughts like sand through one's fingers. 

_See?_ he thought. _I am free. I can walk wherever I want._

But still, it was too hot. He couldn’t think.

Ahkmenrah soon found himself in his own exhibit, and he removed his necklace that seemed to be suffocating him, his bracelets, his cape wrapping him like linens wrap the dead. 

Finally, when the last was on the floor, he breathed, running his hands through his hair and across his face. 

He had made a fool of himself once again. And it was going well, too -- a surprisingly normal conversation -- before Mr. Roosevelt locked away the Mayans. 

Had he locked Ahkmenrah up with the same relief? The same thankfulness to be rid of a problem?

The locks were gone, and the stone that had imprisoned him. Still, there were other locks in the world, and other stones, and Ahkmenrah was helpless all day long. It wouldn’t be hard to trap him if the others thought him dangerous, or even inconvenient.

But that wouldn’t happen again -- Larry wouldn’t let it. He promised. He said _“Now, nobody could lock you up, even if they wanted to.”_

Ahkmenrah was free now, but it was hard to prove it to himself. 

He would go out, he decided. No one at Cambridge ever noticed that he was gone. Why should it be different here?

 _I’ll go to the Empire State Building_ , he thought. The night was young, and the walk there should take less than an hour. He should know; he had memorized the route from a map at Cambridge, and had walked it many times since in his dreams. 

~

Ahkmenrah was right; no one noticed him as he slipped out the front doors.

~

The walk through the city was dazzling. He couldn’t see a single star, but why would he need to? The lights in the windows shone like the sun on millions of gems.

Ahkmenrah had expected it to be more like London, but he had underestimated how far humanity had come in the past fifty years.

Ahkmenrah froze when he turned down the final street and saw the building. 

The Empire State was the largest structure he had ever seen, and it grew dizzyingly steep as he approached it. Many of the rooms within glowed, and the top floors and spire were lit well enough that they could certainly be visible miles out to sea.

In a book he had once read about the building, there was a picture of the workers eating lunch on a steel beam, hundreds of feet in the air. To him, the action seemed almost blasphemous -- something reserved for the gods. 

“You all right there, man?” came a voice from behind, startling Ahkmenrah out of his thoughts. 

Ahkmenrah turned. Behind him were two men dressed in the same dark uniform with a patch on the chest reading _NYPD POLICE_. A large vehicle behind them was labelled similarly. “Certainly,” he responded. “Is there a problem?”

“Well, someone called in saying you were standing out here for a while, no shirt. Aren’t you cold?”

Now that it had been pointed out to him Ahkmenrah was quite cold, shivering, in fact. He brought his arms to his chest. “I suppose I am…”

“What are you doing out dressed like that in this weather?”

“Just doing some sightseeing…”

The officers stared at him for a moment, before one broke the silence. “Look kid, let’s get to the point. Are you on something?”

“On something?” Ahkmenrah wasn’t quite sure what the euphemism meant.

“ _Drugs_. Have you taken any drugs,” the other clarified.

“No…” Ahkmenrah frowned.

One of the officers and sighed. “All right, you’re gonna have to come with us -- for public intoxication, or loitering. It doesn’t matter, but we can’t just leave you out here to freeze.”

“...are you saying you’re going to arrest me?”

“Yes, that’s what we’re going to do. If you cooperate, you’ll be out on bail by morning.” The officer approached him and continued, “Just put your hands behind your back. If you make this easy for us, we’ll make this easy for you.” 

“Morning,” said Ahkmenrah quietly. “No, morning is too late! I need to be home by dawn!” Ahkmenrah backed away a few steps.

“Easy, buddy. Home will still be there in the morning.”

This was true; the museum would be. 

But Ahkmenrah would not.

~

Ahkmenrah tried to run. He made it a block before tripping over his numb feet, and they caught him easily.

He was currently on the ground, face pressed into the wet, salted sidewalk, with one of the officers on his back cuffing his hands.

As the cuffs clicked into place, Ahkmenrah tried to remember why he thought this was a good idea. 

He couldn’t. 

He knew his emotions were erratic -- they had been since he had been released from his coffin -- so why had he acted on them? Even now, his heart was beating wildly, and he couldn’t quite see through the wetness in his eyes. His throat was tight with regret.

Ahkmenrah had been so, so foolish.

The others might not be too fond of him, but surely, they would not want him to turn to dust in the sunlight? Why hadn’t he thought to tell someone where he was going? Even a note would have been sufficient!

Ahkmenrah’s thoughts were broken by a beating, clacking sound on the pavement -- horse hooves? Yes, the rhythm was unmistakable. There were two thuds of men dismounting, then a voice.

“Whoah, whoah, what’s going on here?” 

_Larry?!_ Ahkmenrah scraped his face along the ground to get a better look. It was him! And Mr. Roosevelt, too!

The officer not on top of Ahkmenrah responded, “We’re taking this boy in for public intoxication. He tried to run off, so we had to restrain him. Now, please, sir, take your animals and step away.”

“Just wait a second, please. That’s my nephew. He just turned twenty-one, and had a bit too much fun at our costume party -- you know how it is. We’ve been looking all over for him,” said Larry.

“A costume party, is that it?” The officer was skeptical.

“Yeah, he was a pharaoh. We’ve got Teddy Roosevelt here, too.” He gestured to the other man.

“Hm.” The two officers glanced at each other. “Well, if you take him off our hands, and make sure he doesn’t freeze to death, releasing him to you would be our simplest option.”

“That would be fantastic,” Larry responded, laughing a bit nervously. “My sister would not be happy with me if I let him get himself arrested.”

The officer that had been restraining Ahkmenrah lifted him to his feet, saying, “Up you go. I hope you get a stern talking-to from your uncle.” Ahkmenrah nodded.

“Oh, he will,” said Larry.

Ahkmenrah stumbled when the officer let him go, and Larry stepped forward to balance him. He wrapped his arms around the man’s torso and buried his face in his dark coat, trembling. (It was the cold, he told himself.)

After the police car drove away, hands on Ahkmenrah’s shoulders pulled him away from Larry and turned him around.

“Here, son, put this on. You look half-frozen,” said Mr. Roosevelt, holding out his own jacket. Ahkmenrah shakily tried to put it on, but he couldn’t manage to get his arms into the sleeves. After a moment, Mr. Roosevelt took it back to put it on himself, and Ahkmenrah stared down as the coat was buttoned around him. Thick leather gloves were pushed onto his hands.

Then there was a hand on his chin, guiding it upward so he was facing Larry. He cast his gaze down at their feet. “Ahkmenrah, look at me,” Larry said, at the same time soft and stern. Ahkmenrah obeyed. “What were you thinking?” He was angry.

“I… It’s the tallest building in the world,” he explained.

“It’s not actually, anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. But that’s not what I meant,” Larry continued. 

When Ahkmenrah does not speak for a moment, Mr. Roosevelt says, “Pharaoh, if you hadn’t mentioned this place to Sacagawea, we never would have found you. And if we had noticed you had left even two minutes later, you would have been gone. Can you understand why we’re concerned by your choice of action?” 

Ahkmenrah glanced at him, cringing at the disappointment in his face, and in Larry’s. He struggled for words for a few moments, but in his fear and shame he could only say, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” and then he was clutching at Larry’s coat again, sobbing into his chest.

Larry held him and listened as he babbled incomprehensible nonsense and made all kinds of embarrassing noises, and Mr. Roosevelt rubbed one of his hands along Ahkmenrah’s back.

Once Ahkmenrah had quieted somewhat, Larry spoke again. “Look, Ahk, we’re gonna need to talk about this sometime -- sometime soon -- but for now, we’re going to take you back to the museum so you can get some rest, all right.”

“All right,” he responded, voice rough. Ahkmenrah felt more tired than he could remember being since his life in Egypt.

Larry withdrew from him to get on his horse, then held a hand out to Ahkmenrah to help him mount. Once the three of them were settled, they began their journey back to the museum, Ahkmenrah falling asleep on Larry's shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to leave this on a cliffhanger, with Ahk being arrested thinking he was about to die lol.  
> Good thing I decided not to, that's too sad.
> 
> Well, I'm glad you read this far. Let me know what you think if you want <3
> 
> Ahk at the party: [Hi, I'm Ahkmenrah, and I'm your freestyle dance teacher](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZkNMZlkrzaU)
> 
> [That's really how he dances. I can't stop thinking about it](https://vivienvalentino.tumblr.com/post/180864280996/rami-malek-in-night-at-the-museum-secret-of-the)


End file.
